


the cold seeps in

by luzlicious (Miss_Marigold)



Series: cold [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, Bastogne, George is having a rough time, Introspection, M/M, you could read it platonically if you wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 22:46:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11195034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Marigold/pseuds/luzlicious
Summary: So George kept his eyes open, staring blankly across the field of white littered with tree bark.





	the cold seeps in

As the snow melted into his uniform, further into his bones, George could swear he was the coldest he’d ever been.

 

His shoulder was pressed tightly against Joe’s as they both tried to catch a wink of shuteye in their foxhole. Joe had fallen asleep pretty quickly, which was a blessing considering how much his damn foot was bothering him during every waking moment. George had tried to make Joe trade off wearing his boot, but Joe was a stubborn self-sacrificing idiot. He had at least tied George’s scarf around his foot, so that was progress. Wouldn’t do much against actual frostbite, but they were trapped in a cycle of perpetual shortage in Bastogne.

 

George wasn’t sleeping, but that wasn’t anything new. The only time he actually managed to sleep was when he was at the very back of the line, alone. But George was a popular guy, and always seemed to have a buddy. And while whomever it was could fall asleep to George’s light chattering, he was perpetually keyed up. Constantly aware that his comrade was vulnerable, that they were both vulnerable.

 

It was only worse when Joe was there. It was better, because George could press his shoulder tight against Joe’s without question, could interact closer than was normally permissible. But worse, because he couldn’t shut his eyes without imagining Joe getting blown away, getting hit by a stray bullet if their hole was particularly close to the line. As much as every Company loss hurt, the idea of Joe being hit was physically sickening.

 

So George kept his eyes open, staring blankly across the field of white littered with tree bark. Watching, watching, and waiting. Waiting for death to come, ready to face it. Ready to fight against it, as futile as it may be.

 

He’d sleep when he was dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little doo-dad I wrote while listening to angsty T-Swift. Not super explicitly luztoye, but this is more of a quick George introspection.
> 
> Gosh, I love angst. And T-Swift is back on Spotify, so I see more of it in the future. >:)


End file.
